Soft and gentle as a night breeze . . . that was how the kiss felt to Erik. It was sweet, without being overly aggressive and yet it was far from demure. There was a tenderness that surprised even him. At first, he seemed to fight Marie-Christine, but as she deepened her kiss, his resolve was soon weakened. She parted his lips, her tongue seeking entrance and desiring to drink in all that Erik could offer. His resolution continued to falter. He had not experienced such warmth in quite some time. Erik began to think of that one moment in time when . . . Christine had kissed him.

Pitiful creature of darkness . . . what kind of life have you known . . . ? God gave me courage to show you . . . you are not alone!

Christine calmly put the ring he had given her back, on her finger and kissed him full on the lips. She pulled away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Erik was stunned. She then leaned toward him and embraced him again. However, this time the kiss was long and deep. It was a lover's kiss. When it ended, they looked straight into each others' eyes. Erik began to cry. He was devastated. He had never known human love. He would never know human love again.

Then without warning, the kiss was broken. Erik pushed Marie-Christine away, almost sending her crashing to the cold stone floor of the lair. She gave him a look of surprise and . . . of disappointment, much like a lover hurt by rejection. Collecting his thoughts, Erik looked down at Marie-Christine and spoke.

"Well, you did it. You kissed a monster and lived to tell about. What will you say to everyone when you return? Was it pleasing? Did you enjoy it? I think . . ."

"ENOUGH!"

Marie-Christine spat back at him, venom spewed forth in each word she began to choose. "When will you cease your endless self-pity and loathing? Can you not accept that fact that someone might actually care for you as a human being?"

"And have you noticed that I am far from a human being? Or is blindness merely a side effect of your unique abilities?" Erik was ready to continue the argument, his eyes piercing through, hoping that he would push Marie-Christine away in the process.

"Erik," her voice began softly. She moved closer, standing now mere inches away from him. "Some scars are not on the outside." Marie-Christine's voice softened more, forcing Erik to concentrate on each word. She gently brought her left hand to unmasked portion of his face, cupping his cheek in her palm.

"What . . . do . . . you mean?" he stuttered as he found it more and more difficult to speak.

"What I mean Erik, is some of the scars we all bear are not on the outside. You possess many, the ones I can see and the ones I cannot. Am I not correct? Are there not more scars littered across your body?"

Erik nodded, no words emanating from his lips.

"May I see?" she asked.

"Why? Do you want to pity me? Forgive me, but I've had enough pity to last me a lifetime." He tried his best to push back once more.

Marie-Christine would not be so easily dissuaded. "I would never pity you. The night you came to me, there was something I saw in your eyes."

"Desperation?" he responded.

"I think it was hope. You've yet to feel compassion from another, let alone a woman perhaps. Erik, allow me in . . . allow someone to . . ." she paused for moment.

"To . . ." Erik wasn't sure or certain he wanted to hear her response.

"To love you," Marie finished.

Erik hesitated, feeling for the first time shy in front of a woman. He thought back of the time when he was a child on display as the Devil's Child and how . . .

He was stripped of practically all clothing so that those who paid their admission could see what a dirty little monster he truly was. During that time, he was allowed to bathe maybe once or twice in a month. In the meantime, the dirt would cake along with the cuts and bruises he received. When it came time to "clean up" as his keeper had put it, Erik found that he hated it. He hated how the man would hurt him, splashing ice cold, filthy water across his small body and scrubbing the month-long dirt away with a harsh brush. It was a wire brush. The pain was excruciating. He would close his eyes and wait for it to end. It never did.

"Erik?" Marie-Christine whispered once more. "Please let me see."

Releasing a breath he'd been holding, Erik opened his eyes and began to slowly unbutton his shirt to the waist. He looked up at her, not sure of what would happen next.

Marie-Christine smiled and placed one hand on his chest. His skin was warm to the touch, almost as if there was a heat intensifying with each passing moment.

"Erik, I saw these before and as you know, I can take away the pain and the scars." She stepped forward and placed a small kiss on Erik's chest. Marie-Christine kissed one scar and then another and then one more. It wasn't until she reached the fourth one that Erik realized she wasn't using her abilities to heal his body, but rather she was using . . . love . . . to begin to heal his heart.

"Christine . . ." he groaned as she continued her kisses. Try as he did, Erik found that it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain the walls around his heart. They slowly began to crumble.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted when Marie-Christine stopped. She had heard what he had said. He called out Christine's name and not hers, but she didn't seem upset. She had a rather odd look on her face. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but knew he made a mistake . . . again. He bowed his head.

"Erik?" she began, taking her finger and raising his chin so that he would look into her eyes. "Now I think you can understand that the scars that are on the inside of you must begin to heal as well. I know this as I still possess many of my own." She then turned from Erik, and walked towards his bedchamber.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he followed her.

Marie-Christine did not answer, but instead continued to walk away from him. It was as if she were lost in thought. She began to look around the room, picking up objects, regarding them with a sense of curiosity and wonder, and then placing them back, careful so as not to break the objects. She noticed a small passageway beyond a curtain. Marie-Christine was about to go through the passageway when Erik placed his hand on her shoulder.

"It's not wise to explore down here. There are many traps that I . . ."

"Set?" she finished his sentence. "I'm sorry. Where was I?"

"You were speaking of scars you still possessed," Erik replied.

"Ah yes. Well, I told you about how I lost my sister. I never told you how I came to live in that house . . . did I?" Marie-Christine asked.

"No, you didn't." he replied, wondering what more he would learn of her.

"Well, where do I start," she began.

"The beginning is always good," Erik offered; a slight smiled tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yes. That's true indeed. After I escaped from the Fleur-de-Lys, I was taken in by a local doctor in town. He lived in the house you found a few nights ago. He was so kind and helpful. He was like the father I never knew. He allowed me to live there and in return I took care of the house, did some cleaning and cooking for him on occasion." Marie paused for a moment and allowed Erik to take in all that she said.

"So . . . was he your lover?" Erik asked.

Marie smiled and allowed a small laugh to escape her lips. "No. As strange as it may seem, he never once forced himself upon me. He was like a mentor, a guardian to me. I loved him as a . . ." she struggled to find the right word.

"Father?" Erik offered.

"Yes. He was a father to me. He was more of a father than my other one was ever allowed to be. Then one night, he was taken from me." Marie turned; her head bowed and looked at Erik. A small tear began to trickle down her left cheek. He could not help but to reach out and catch the tear as it cascaded down her face.

"I'm sorry." Erik replied.

"It's okay really. I mean, he wasn't murdered. It was of all things, an accident. He was racing across town to a woman who was going to give birth. His carriage was hit by another. My father, I mean my surrogate father was thrown from the carriage. He didn't survive the night." The tears that were to slow to come flowed more easily.

Erik was unable to speak at the moment. Each time he thought he knew all there was to know about Marie-Christine, something new came to light. Her breakdown in front of him was something he had not counted upon. He expected her to run from him once she had seen the horror that was his face. She did not flee. Instead, she turned to him for comfort as she shared something private and personal.

"I'm sorry. I must seem like a babbling fool," she cried, stifling a small sniffle in the process. Marie-Christine did her best to dry her tears but thinking of the loss of her surrogate father opened old wounds. She turned and wrapped her arms around Erik, seeking comfort and warmth. She hoped he would not turn her away. She was not ready to deal with rejection yet again.

"Shhh . . . . It's okay. I understand," Erik assured Marie-Christine as he stroked her hair. He allowed her to bury her face into the warm of his body. Her hot tears burned into Erik's very being. After a few moments, she stopped and looked into his eyes.

"Do you understand Erik? Loss is what I speak of to you. I won't forget all that he did for me, but I also cannot live in the past. I do my best each day to try and live in the present and the only way I can truly succeed is let go of the past and the pain as well. Can you begin to do the same?" Marie-Christine waited for his response.

Erik thought for a moment. Then, the realization of what she said became readily apparent. Marie-Christine was telling Erik that he had to let go of the past. That meant his childhood, the time in the Opera Populaire, and . . . he would have to let go of Christine. He would not forget, but he had to begin to let go of the pain he had held onto for so long.

"I can try," he answered.

"Then we have a new beginning. Forgive, but I am tired. May I sit?" She pointed to the swan bed centered in the chamber. Erik nodded and Marie-Christine in turn sat at the edge.

"Come join me. I promise. I do not bite." She assured him.

He smiled and joined her, now sitting to her left. "You seem very trusting of me. How do you know what I will or will not do?"

"You said the magic word Erik. I trust you," she replied as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

"I am glad that you do, but I still do not understand, why do you trust me?" Erik explained.

Marie-Christine went on to point out the parallels in their pasts. Each felt like an outcast in society. Both Erik and Marie-Christine had experienced loss many times over in their lives. She lost a mentor and Erik . . . a student. Erik hid beneath the depth of the Opera Populaire and Marie-Christine hid her abilities from a fearful Paris. As she continued explaining the similarities, Erik began to realize that both he and Marie-Christine were kindred souls . . . perhaps destined to be together or perhaps not. That was a matter for the gods to decide.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" Marie-Christine finally asked. She turned and looked into Erik's eyes. Her hand now rested gently on his right thigh. Her action did not go unnoticed.

"I . . . yes . . . I do," he answered, a calmness present in his voice and in his being. It was something he had not felt in the past few weeks. He also discovered one more thing.

He liked this new feeling.

Erik and Marie-Christine spent the next few hours talking, sharing, releasing the pain and embracing the new beginning each vowed to the other. It was as if two old friends who long been separated found each other once more. Nevertheless, the two old friends also knew things were changing. The two old friends were becoming . . . more.

"And then there was the time . . ." Erik paused for a moment when realized that Marie-Christine did not answer. He turned his head and looked closer. She had fallen asleep.

"Marie-Christine?" he whispered but she did not wake. Erik brought his hand to gently touch her left cheek. He ran his thumb along the outer edge of her lips, hoping to illicit a response, but it was not to be. She had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Erik knew that the conversation was done for the evening. He did his best to stifle a yawn, but he too was beginning to feel the weight of the past days upon his tired body. Erik gently stood and turned, not allowing Marie-Christine to fall from his side. He carefully picked her up and laid her on the bed. Her clothing was simple and therefore she would okay if she slept in them for the evening.

Erik yawned again. He needed to rest and there was no other place for him to sleep. It was really a practical decision. He removed his shoes and his shirt. Erik then walked around the bedchamber and blew out each candle. When there was only one left, he sat at the edge of the bed and looked over at the sleeping form of Marie-Christine. Erik gently traced the outline of her lips with his left hand. She murmured in response. He sighed and blew out the remaining candle. As he lay back, Erik was startled by Marie-Christine's arm extending across his chest. She was still asleep. Releasing a breath, he began to relax. As Erik closed his eyes, one final thought entered his mind.

Can I truly find happiness twice in my lifetime?

Erik slept soundly until the nightmare came. In it, he saw Marie-Christine fall. She fell into the same watery grave that almost claimed Raoul de Chagny's life. She cried out his name and yet he could do nothing. Erik watched in horror as she slipped away, her body filling with fluid and the Opera Populaire becoming her watery grave. A look of sadness adorned her face.

"ERIK!"

He woke with start. This was no dream . . . he thought. He heard Marie-Christine scream or did he? Erik immediately turned to the left side of the bed and saw she was gone.

Erik instinctively rose and rushed toward the trap he dreamt about. He hoped and prayed that she would be alright. He couldn't lose her. Erik truly believed in what she had told him last night. He believed once more . . . in love. As Erik rounded the corner, what he saw shattered that thought in an instant.

Marie-Christine was lying facing down in the water. The metal grate rested just above her body. She did not move.

Erik did the only thing he could do in response. He screamed again and again. He screamed only one name . . .

"MARIE-CHRISTINE!"